


The Eyes of Blenheim: Chapter Two

by itstonedme



Series: The Eyes of Blenheim [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, Edwardian Period, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orlijah meets <i>Downton Abbey</i>.  Orlando is the 9th Duke of Marlborough, residing with his wife and two small children at the family estate, Blenheim Palace.  Elijah is the duke's personal valet.  The time is 1905: recent inventions include the automobile, the telephone and electric lighting.  Class distinction based on landed wealth is pronounced.</p><p>Disclaimer: All fiction.  No disrespect intended to real persons.</p><p>Feedback: Always welcomed.  First posted on Live Journal <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/92517.html#cutid1">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eyes of Blenheim: Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

The restoration of the palace continues unabated over the Spring months. So many different sites are being worked on all at once. The water gardens on the west side are now largely complete: the great terrace has been laid, statuary has been installed, the two great fountains are in place, the paths have been levelled and gravelled, with sod and ornamental trees framing everything artfully. All that remains is to hook up the plumbing, which awaits the laying of the pipes down by the lake. The Italian gardens on the east side of the palace have been dug and the stone there is being put down. The library has been refurbished, and renovations have commenced in the state apartments as well as the two drawing rooms and the main hall. 

With so many workers and tradesman present, all of whom are toiling with tools and automated machinery, the children of the duke and duchess – little Lord Andrew and the toddler, Lady Annabel – have been confined to the east wing where the family resides, venturing outdoors only under close supervision. Both parents have spent far less time with the children during the restorations than the children obviously need, for they are becoming restless and temperamental in the upheaval. 

So on a bright June day, the duke decides to put his eldest, a boy of five years, on a pony so that the duke can lead it by the Queen's Pond on the north lawn of the palace. Despite the boy's youth and despite Orlando's scar, equestrian training can't begin soon enough as far as Orlando is concerned.

They are not alone. The duke has asked Elijah to join them, and he walks several paces behind.

"Why couldn't Annabel come?" the boy asks his father as Orlando walks beside him, the lead line to the halter on the spotted Shetland short but loose. 

"Because she is only two," Orlando replies. "She is still a little girl."

"But I am old enough," his son states quite proudly.

"You are indeed."

"Can you make the pony go faster?" his son asks.

"Not today," his father replies. "You first must learn to walk the pony all on your own and teach him to listen to you. Maybe then."

"He is listening," the boy says. "Hello, Jupiter," he tells the animal, and the pony's ears flicker. "See, Daddy? He's listening to me." 

Orlando strokes the pony's neck with his free hand. "He is at that. Keep talking to him every time you see him, and bring him a carrot or apple, and he'll listen to you very carefully when you need him to."

A bird passes overhead, its shadow crossing the ground in front of the pony, and the animal starts. Orlando is quick to tighten his grip on the lead and stroke the animal's neck, his voice soothing. The pony tosses its head for a bit, then settles.

"Oh!" the boy crows cheerfully. "He was frightened, wasn't he, Daddy."

"Only for a moment," Orlando tells him. "Not anymore."

Elijah has been listening to them with half an ear. He's preoccupied with a conversation he overheard this morning, a real dressing down that Mrs. Blanchett gave Miss Otto regarding a comment the latter shared with a housemaid. It concerned a private moment between the duchess and Miss Otto, a confidence that all personal attendants should know are never to go further than their own ears. Elijah is frankly disgusted by it; this infraction was most indiscreet and a betrayal by Miss Otto. If the duchess were to know, he has no doubt that Miss Otto would be fired. Now he's stuck with having to know of the distress the duchess feels regarding her relations with the duke, the remoteness she feels he exhibits to her, that she is sufficiently unhappy as to have been brought to tears before her lady's maid and to have confided in her. It is all too personal, something that Elijah did not need to know, nor did the maid, nor Mrs. Blanchett, nor the multitude of other household staff who will inevitably be wagging their tongues about it.

The duke, by every appearance to Elijah's eyes anyway, is a dutiful husband. He spends time with his wife and children. He is courteous. He is complimentary whenever Her Grace is mentioned or comes into the room. The duke seems pleased to be seen with her, and she appears delighted to be with him. They are extremely compatible in their attitudes towards child rearing. The fact that she does not spend the night in the duke's room does not mean that he does not visit hers. Whatever marital arrangements they have made regarding their sexual affairs are no one's business but their own. One can't have her lady's maid watching a half-naked duke make for the bathroom in the morning where his valet awaits with the washcloth, Elijah thinks. Nor would he feel at all comfortable seeing Her Grace in disarray. All in all, Elijah thinks it is simple gossip about a momentary but upsetting flight of fancy on Her Grace's part. 

He is interrupted from these thoughts as the duke calls back to him. "Do you ever ride, Wood?" 

But before Elijah can form a reply, the pony takes a skittish leap sideways, away from the duke, and in an instant, the child tumbles heavily onto the ground off the pony's far side. The boy lands fully on his back where he arches once, limbs flexing outwards, his eyes wide and helpless. He makes no sound, just stares skyward in terror, the pony's hooves prancing dangerously close to his head.

"Clear the animal away!" Elijah yells to the duke as he runs to the child and kneels by his side. He scoops the child's hands into his own and lays them on the ground above the boy's head, then cradles the boy's neck, tipping his head back. "Breathe," he says quietly. "You've knocked the wind out of your chest."

The boy tries to suck air, his eyes starting with tears, terrified, desperately looking at Elijah, but Elijah can see that his efforts are useless.

"Don't be frightened," he says, rubbing the boy's tummy lightly with his other hand. "You will start breathing in a few seconds. This happened to me all the time when I was little. You'll be alright."

Orlando is torn between keeping the pony away and rushing to his boy. Finally, he releases the animal with a slap on its rump, and the pony kicks and canters off in the direction of the stables, stirrups flapping. Orlando rushes to his child and kneels opposite Elijah, gripping the boy's hand and stroking his forehead. 

By now, the boy has begun to gulp air, his eyes darting from Elijah to his father.

"There," Elijah smiles. "You've had your first spill from a pony and survived. You'll be able to tell everyone how brave you were and how silly ponies can be."

Any notion of crying on the child's part is immediately staunched. "He… _was_ …silly," the boy gasps.

Orlando has said nothing, and Elijah glances to him. He takes in the blanching of the duke's face, the grimness of his expression, as if it were he who had had the air knocked out of him. "He's fine," Elijah tells hims. "Only a tumble."

Orlando glances to him, horrified and speechless.

"Let's take a look," Elijah says to the boy. "Can you sit up?" When the boy does, Elijah reaches around and pulls the boy's shirt from his trousers, lifting it up to the nape of his neck. "Does it hurt anywhere I touch?" he asks as he gently probes the child's ribs and spine. 

The boy shakes his head. Elijah looks once more to the duke. "He's fine," he repeats quietly. "Just a scare."

"Daddy," the boy says, "will you punish Jupiter for being bad?"

"Come here," Orlando finally says, pulling the child into an embrace and kissing the crown of his head. "Jupiter was just frightened. He didn't mean to make you fall. I can't punish him for becoming frightened. That wouldn't be fair, would it."

The boy pulls away from his father and smiles up at him. "Now I'm like you, aren't I, Daddy? Now I've fallen from a horse just like you once did."

"And you probably will again," Orlando tells him, pulling him close once more, his eyes coming up to meet Elijah's. He nods ever so slightly before smiling, relieved. He releases the boy. "All right, let's get you on your feet."

The three of them stand, and Elijah bends to tuck the boy's shirt back into his trousers. When he straightens, he stands with his hands straight at his sides. "Your Grace," he says to Orlando. "I need to ask your forgiveness for yelling at you."

Orlando frowns in puzzlement. "Elijah," he says. "In the heat of a crisis, you behaved as I would hope any reasonable man should, especially when it was my child's safety at stake. You have nothing to apologize for. In fact, I need to commend you on your composure and quick wittedness. Mine certainly was lacking, to my discredit."

"You both were frightened, for different reasons," Elijah says so the boy won't hear. "But I thank Your Grace."

"Come along," Orlando says pleasantly, wrapping his arm around Elijah's shoulder, his other hand on his son's as they begin to walk. "You were brilliant. Father and son, handled with aplomb."

Elijah accepts the compliment with a smile. He cannot deny that the grateful affection and momentary camaraderie by the duke is satisfying in ways he hadn't anticipated. Despite the proscribed formality of their stations – he as valet to a duke – they have spent much time alone, not in any salacious sense but simply getting to know each other as employer and employee. He has now been in service three months and has come to know that, as strategic as the duke can be in structuring the future well-being of his estate and his family, he is at heart a thoughtful man and a rather playful one who chooses to find humour in most situations. But never has the duke reached out to touch him in any way, certainly not in the spirit of affection. 

And never before has the duke called him by his Christian name. That the duke actually thinks of him as "Elijah" delights him. His smile broadens into one of gap-toothed delight.

"There you go," Orlando tells him with a laugh. "I knew there was another fellow hiding inside." 

*

At breakfast of the following day, the duchess arrives a half hour after her husband, who is still at his place at the table, reading a book. This is unusual on two fronts: normally, the duke dines fairly quickly so that he can get out and circulate with the workmen; and normally the duke reads only the daily newspapers. But this morning, he has not been in a rush to leave.

Equally as an exception to the norm is that Noble, who usually attends to matters of the dining room, is away this morning, completing an errand in the nearby town of Woodstock, and he has asked Elijah to oversee the footman in his duties. Working with the cook and head housemaid, Elijah has made sure that the breads are warm, the coffee brewed, and the rashers, which Her Grace is particularly fond of, hot from the pan awaiting her arrival.

"Good morning, my love," the duchess smiles, coming to her husband's side and placing a kiss upon his temple before turning to help herself at the buffet.

"Good morning, Olivia," he replies somewhat distractedly. He catches himself and puts his book down. "You slept well?"

"Thank you, I did," she replies pleasantly as she serves herself a nappy of berries and selects a warm roll. Elijah nods to the footman, who turns to the side board and collects the jam caddy and several silver pots of butter and clotted cream, which he brings to her place setting. 

"Thank you, Wood," she says as Elijah positions her chair while she sits. "I must thank you too for helping our son yesterday after his spill. Despite his great pride in the achievement, the duke tells me you were quite heroic in helping him see past the scare." 

Elijah nods his appreciation. "It was the very least I could do, Your Grace."

"I think you are being too modest, Wood. From what I understand, your 'very least' was considerable. It was the type of incident that can mark a child, but he seems to have come through it more determined than ever to follow his father in mastering the sport." 

Elijah nods once more and returns to the side board to pour the duchess a cup of coffee, her preferred morning beverage, which he brings to her personally. 

"What has kept you at the breakfast table this morning, Orlando?" the duchess says to her husband. "You are usually gone by now."

Orlando picks up the closed book next to his plate. "This book," he says. "I began reading it before bed last night, but as you can see, it is a very thin volume, very absorbing, and I wished to finish it."

"And what is it about?" the duchess asks.

Orlando turns the book in his hand. "It is the letter Oscar Wilde wrote from Reading Gaol," he replies. "It is only now just been posthumously published by an associate of Wilde's. It is titled _De Profundis,_ 'from the depths.' It is very moving."

The duchess takes a sip of her coffee, looking at her husband over the rim of her cup. "We are talking about the same Oscar Wilde who was jailed for gross indecency, are we not?"

The footman glances over to Elijah, who crooks his head towards the kitchen door, dismissing him. 

"Yes," her husband replies, placing the book back on the table.

"What could possibly be so moving about his story except the shame he brought his family?" the duchess says.

The duke is quiet for a moment. Finally he says, "His great suffering, Olivia," and his expression is one of offended puzzlement. 

She butters her roll and reaches for the jam spoon. "He interfered with another man – forgive me, Wood, it is as distasteful at the breakfast table as anywhere. He played with fire, Orlando, and was burned for it."

"He loved another, Olivia, and was punished for it," the duke replies in a somewhat incredulous tone. 

"He was a sodomite," the duchess continues, now a little testily. "Somehow, I would think that the pathetic nature of his perversion should nullify any sympathy that decent people might be inclined to feel for him."

The ensuing silence hangs more heavily than the great brocades on the windows overlooking the neighbouring terrace. Elijah straightens his back and wishes he were in any other room than the one he is currently in.

Orlando turns his head slightly towards him as he stands at the duke's right by the kitchen door. "Would you please excuse us, Wood. Be so kind as to close all the doors on your way out."

Elijah looks ahead at the many doors on each wall and inwardly sighs. He walks the length of the dining room and shuts the French doors leading to the terrace. He continues to the far wall and closes the door that leads to the small drawing room. He walks to the left of the buffet and closes the door to the hall. He passes behind the duchess and closes the other door to the hallway, this one to the right of the buffet. Finally, he passes behind the duke and walks through the doorway that leads down a corridor to the kitchen, turning to close the door behind him. During all of this time, the only sounds he has heard has been the clink of the Duchess' china coffee cup finding its saucer and the palpable rancour building in the room.

Elijah has barely had a chance to step back from the closed dining room door when he hears through it the acid accusation from the duchess to her husband, "You would embarrass me like that in front of the staff?"

"You actually managed to do that all by yourself, Olivia," Orlando replies icily. "Implying to my valet that I am indecent because of my _opinion_ on this matter? What were you _thinking?"_

She stares at him angrily. "I am thinking," she says slowly, "that there is more to this disagreement between us than that vile book. I would suggest that it seems to have absorbed more of your attention this morning than you care to show your wife. And what was it yesterday morning? Oh, a meeting with the mason, the same one you seem to need to meet with every morning. Unless, of course, it's the arborist. Or the head groundsman. Or the fellow who polishes the spokes on the motor carriage. Let's stop pretending otherwise, Orlando. You have been avoiding me. You have been distracting yourself with anything and everything, as long as it does not happen to have anything to do with the circumstance of our marriage."

Orlando purses his lips. Breakfast conversation certainly has taken a turn in a new direction. 

She is, of course, absolutely right, which he knows. She has brought more to this marriage than he has been willing to offer it – her wealth, her womanly notions of enduring love, two pregnancies, an estrangement from her native land. He knows that, in return, he's offered precious little. A title, which took no effort on his part. Two children, which took little more. He felt that their situation was understood. _Didn't your title-hungry mother sit you down and explain what to expect of a marriage such as ours, advise you to take a lover if you were to find yourself unhappy, which would be the inevitable case given my limited interest in your presence?_

"We need to talk," she says.

"What is there to talk about?" he replies wearily. "We're going through a rough patch, that is all."

"That is not all!" she yells, and he raises his hand to silence her, his face angry.

"I do not know what your custom is in America," he says coldly, "but when spouses disagree, they discuss it civilly and without telegraphing it to everyone within earshot."

"Do not," she says more quietly, "attempt to avoid this conversation by erecting a barrier of indifferent English high-mindedness around it and by insulting my culture. Yes, I am more passionate by nature than you are, Orlando, and yes, I recognize that my marriage to you was predicated on a bank draft. But married we are, and I expect more from you than you have been choosing to deliver. Something has changed."

"Nothing has changed," he replies. "Perhaps it is only that this is all I'm capable of delivering." He knows he's being a lout, and a coward, and callous, but there it is.

"Try harder," she says, biting down on each word.

Of course, none of this conversation has been overheard by Elijah. From the moment the duke first replied to his wife's initial shot across the bow, Elijah has stepped back from the door and exited through the corridor out into the hallway to ensure that none of the house staff are lingering there, dusting and re-dusting while they eavesdrop. From there, he goes to the kitchen where he informs Mrs. Blanchett and the footmen that they are not to clear the dining room until the duke and duchess have left it, nor are the two to be disturbed. Already, he knows that this is being knitted together with Miss Otto's tattle from yesterday morning, proof enough that things are indeed rotten in the state of Blenheim. 

After that, he fluctuates from the staircase in the hallway, down to the small drawing room, then to the service corridor, back and forth like a sentinel, protecting the privacy of his employer. Several times he passes Mrs. Blanchett where their eyes repeatedly meet, but this time there is an unspoken understanding between them that something bigger is at play here, and it is their duty to ensure it is respected. When the duchess finally leaves the dining room within the quarter hour, Elijah slips unseen to the corridor and watches as she takes the stairs to their apartments. He returns to the hallway and stands just outside the opened dining room doorway within the duke's line of sight.

Orlando turns to him, having heard his footsteps. He raises a hand to beckon him into the room. "Let the staff know they can clear, if you would," Orlando says. He pushes his chair back and stands, but he doesn't move from the table. He looks down, his hand resting on the surface of the closed book beside his plate. "I am sorry you had to hear that exchange, Wood," the duke says. He taps the surface of the book with his finger without saying any more.

"Your Grace, there is no need to apologize."

Orlando continues tapping. Finally, he lifts his head and turns to Elijah, a smile curling one edge of his mouth. "This sounds very much like a conversation we had yesterday," he says. "Nevertheless, I would appreciate your discretion on this matter."

"Assured, Your Grace. Is there anything else you require of me at the moment? If you might let me know what you will be taking to London tomorrow, I'll see that your clothes and any other items are made ready."

Orlando is grateful for the changed tack of conversation. He picks up the book. "Thank you," he says and walks towards Elijah. "Would you leave this on my bed table? I hope to finish it tonight."

*

Elijah stows the brass button polisher in his grooming kit later in the day when he is in His Grace's bedroom, along with his sewing supplies, and he latches it shut. He scans the room to see if there is anything else he might have missed in his preparations of His Grace's wardrobe. He's reinforced all the suit buttons and brushed the top hat His Grace will wear to the theatre. As he searches about, his eyes catch on the thin volume he earlier placed beneath the lamp on the bedside table, and he walks over, looking over his shoulder quickly to make sure he is alone. Tentatively, he lifts the cover and begins to leaf through the pages until his eyes stop on the following passage:

> _"The gods are strange. It is not our vices only they make instruments to scourge us. They bring us to ruin through what in us is good, gentle, humane, loving. But for my pity and affection for you and yours, I would not now be weeping in this terrible place..."_

The poignant bitterness of love socially punished barely has time to settle into his thoughts before he hears the sitting room door open from the hallway. Quickly, guiltily, he closes the cover, immediately anticipating one of the housemaids. He has only just removed his hand and turned when Orlando himself strides through the bedroom doorway. Elijah takes a step away from the bed table. 

"Wood," Orlando says affably. "I'm glad I found you. I have been thinking that I'd like you to join me when we have tea tomorrow afternoon with my aunt. You may wish to pack for that. Nothing fancy; she doesn't stand on ceremony. And bring a change of clothes for something outdoors, in case the weather is good. Perhaps we might go out on the river. Would you be up for it?"

Elijah's heart is hammering at how close he has come to being found poking through His Grace's private reading. "I, I would like that very much," he stammers as he attempts to collect himself. "If Your Grace feels that is appropriate."

"And why shouldn't it be?" Orlando laughs. "You are my valet, for God's sake. We can be seen in public together, even being sociable, should it come to that. You _can_ swim, I hope." 

Elijah smiles nervously and nods. "I can, Your Grace, yes."

"Settled, then," Orlando smiles with delight. He nods to the book by his bed. "Be sure to pack that, if you would. I shan't have any time for it tonight. And Elijah," the duke says, arriving upon his valet's name with ease, "when I am through with it, would you have any interest in reading it? No obligation if you find the subject distasteful. It is just that I would enjoy having someone with whom I might discuss it, and there are precious few within my circle who would be thus inclined."

If taking care of the duke means taking care of his conversational needs, Elijah is hardly one to demur. He turns and picks up the book. "I thank Your Grace," he says. "I would welcome the opportunity." 

"You can be so engagingly formal when you set your mind to it," Orlando laughs.


End file.
